Shenandoah herald. [volume] (Woodstock, Va.) 1865-1974, 1887-05-13
An UNEXPECTED RESULT,
BY HELEN FORREST GRAVES.
aMary! Maryp

hluko OlOoo bO%CA'
Deserted, we say, for at this time
of the year little travelling patron
age was vouchsafed to Kings Cross.
The postmaster boarded at the
hotel, and the town clerk had a
room there, and the farmers dined
there of market days (which only
came once o week., but the arrival
of a real live guest from the railway
station, four miles away, always Gre
ated q futter.
Kings Cross was a dreary little
hamlet, scattered, in an inconse'
quent fashion, along the ragged
Maryland coast, with round light
house, whose eye Ofrevolving fame
glared wickedly out to sea Of stormy
nights; there was bathing beach,
more or less washed away by the
capricious tides, and an irregular
street of old stone houses and wood
en- cottages.
There was a post Office, village
store, and an ancient stone church,
whose graveyard, on steep side
hill, seemed to be slipping down
the bank, in q succession Of rude
terraces, until its downward course
was promptly arrested by a hedge
Of gnarled and hoary yew, at the
foot.
And this was Kings Cross-one
Of the oldest and ugliest villages on
the Maryland coast.
'Maryl l say, Mary, where are
your
Once more Mrs. Yorke's voice
sent its cracked burden down the
paved hall, and tall, pretty girl
came hurriedly up through the tall,
purple spikes of the hlac-trees in
the back garden.
"Were you calling me, Mrs.
Yorker Oh, 1 am very sorry, but"
"Calling you" Mrs. Yorke put
her hand plaintively to her throat,
and rolled her eyes up toward the
ceiling, by way Of evincing great
mental and physical prostratiou.-
"Calling you And where, may l
venture to ask, have you been%
Mary Folyott was a pale, violet
eyed girl, with hair Of the real
Scotch gold, delicate profile, and
sensitive red lips.
al have been to the grave
yard,Y she murmured, "with some
wild roses and white lilies. Oh,
Mrs. Yorke, pardon me I ran both
ways; but it was Decoration Day,
and I did not want his grave to be
desolate and neglected, while every
one else's was loaded with flowers"
"Mary Folyott, Pm surprised at
you I" said Mrs. Yorke. "He's dead
and buried, and, by all accounts,
though 1 never saw the young man,
You couldn't treat him decently
while he was living. I don't think
it signifes much about flowers now
that he's gone. And you're here, l
beg you to remember, to work for
me, and not to carry flowers to
other folkses' graves w
Mary Folyott hung her head ;
but she was we'll accustomed to
eat the bitter bread OF dependence.
Flow briefs while ago it was that
she was the petted darling of for
tune Now, orphaned, penniless
and alone, she was drudge-in-chief
to Mrs. Yorke, of the Kings Cross
hotel, her fathers second cousin.
"Come, make haster said Mrs.
Yorke. "There's gentleman came
in the nine-o'clock stage. He's in
Number Nineteen, and he wants bis
breakfast, and old Csssy's got the
toothsche, and won't lift a finger.
STIR mp some mullins aud fry some
eggs, that's a dear, and III be brOil-
ing chicken and getting the coffee
ready.
Mechanically Mary obeyed. 1t
was rather a monotonous life for a
girl of eighteen but after all Mrs.
Yorke was fairly kind in her way
when there was no especial hurry,
and when Classy, the cook, did not
sggravate her, or Mr.. Yorke give
way to his particular failing of too
much Bourbon whiskey.
Mary stood in the cool shadows
OF the vine leaves that yelled the
milk.room window, listening to the
rush OF the surf on the shore, and
watching the robins dart in and
out Of the old button-ball trees,
and stirred the English mullins
with busy fingers, while her
thoughts went sorrowtully back to
The grave under the shadow Of the
yew hedge, where she bad left the
white lilies and the crushed heap OF
fragrant roses.
"Not even sunbeam ~ she had
said, rebelliOusly, as she pushed
tack the gray green yew, breaking
of the branches and bending back
the spurs in a sort Of hot anger
"He shall have sunshine on his
grsve-to-day, at least.7
And as Mary worked, the slow
tears trickled one by one down her
cheek.
She had loved Hugh Derby very
dearly, but she had a coquettish
element through her Dsture-like
most women, Northumberland
be had gone away to the far South,